


My Appetite For You Is Insatiable

by Lurlur



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Edging, Established Relationship, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, Jealousy, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Soft Dom Aziraphale, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), not healthy but you do what you can, rated e for envy-fucking, soft D/s, they have a good time with it, working out your feelings with sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 02:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21759691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurlur/pseuds/Lurlur
Summary: Crowley has spent the evening flirting with a pretty waiter. Aziraphale thinks that he needs a reminder of who owns his heart.Inspired by a simply gorgeous artwork by Lyxill which is linked at the top and embedded in the story.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 65
Kudos: 617
Collections: Top Aziraphale Recs





	My Appetite For You Is Insatiable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lyxill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyxill/gifts).



> Inspired by this gorgeous work by [Lyxill](https://twitter.com/LyxillArt/status/1204373090345652224?s=19)
> 
> There is a very NSFW image in the story, fyi.
> 
> My deepest thanks to Sosobriquet, D20Owlbear, Robynthemagpie_writes, benezedrine_calmstheitch, and the Warlock Party House server in general for the help, support, and making my words into something readable.
> 
> Remember kids, do as I say and not as I do. Fucking out your feelings is a poor substitute for talking about them with your partner!

Aziraphale is hungry. He’s  _ been _ hungry since they got to the restaurant earlier that evening and the shameless flirt of a waiter had taken an immediate liking to Crowley. For almost two and a half hours Aziraphale has had to watch this beautiful, young human all but offer himself up on a plate to Crowley. Of course, the food had been impeccable and the service was prompt and courteous, but Aziraphale had seen the size of the tip that Crowley had left and he knew, he just knew, that Crowley had been more than flattered by the attention.

Despite himself, Aziraphale recognises the fingers of jealousy curling in his stomach and he hates how tempting it is to give in to it. Beside him, Crowley is driving as sensibly as he is capable of; humming along to the radio and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. Clearly, he is in a wonderful mood and it has far too much to do with pretty waiters and nothing to do with Aziraphale.

That, however, is something that Aziraphale has the power to change.

“Would you like to come in for a drink?” Aziraphale keeps his tone as casual as possible.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, alright. Sounds good.” Crowley seems almost surprised by the invitation which rankles Aziraphale all the more.

They always have a drink together after a dinner out, but now Aziraphale feels like he’s keeping Crowley from something.

“Only if you want to, that is. You don’t have to stay out of sympathy or anything.” Aziraphale says with a sniff.

Crowley parks the Bentley and looks over at Aziraphale, a faint frown creasing his brow above the dark glasses.

“Of course I want to, you daft thing.”

He leans over and kisses Aziraphale on the cheek before getting out of the car. Gently, Aziraphale touches his face where the kiss had landed and feels his boiling jealousy settle into a simmer. Perhaps he had been overreacting, just a little. The car door opens and Crowley’s hand appears to assist Aziraphale out.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale gives Crowley a warm little smile, all twinkling eyes and delicately curved mouth.

It appears to have the desired effect as Crowley looks away and clears his throat, slamming the car door rather more violently than needed. Aziraphale overhears the whispered apology that the car gets for that lack of self-control as he walks up to the door of the bookshop. Crowley is behind him before he’s got the key in the lock, pressing himself against Aziraphale’s back from hip to shoulder.

With gritted teeth, Aziraphale wonders how much this frisky mood owes to a certain green-eyed waiter with a soft Scottish accent and an appalling sense of humour. The door swings open at last and Aziraphale hurries inside with Crowley on his heels. He makes a deliberate move away from Crowley in order to take off his coat, scarf, and jacket, hanging them all on the coat rack by the door. He’s in no rush, no matter what mood Crowley might be in.

“I’ve a case of Merlot just in from my man in the business. How would that suit you?” As he speaks, Aziraphale walks away from Crowley, into the back of the shop and the private area that they’ve made increasingly homely over the past few months.

“Merlot sounds fine.”

Crowley is right behind him again, pressing his lips just above Aziraphale’s collar and winding his arms around Aziraphale’s waist. With a little huff, Aziraphale shrugs him off and fetches a pair of wine glasses.

When he turns around with two glasses of the Merlot in his hands and the bottle held in the crook of his elbow, he finds Crowley lounging on the sofa, his glasses folded on the table leaving his eyes exposed and wanting.

“Here you are, Crowley,” says Aziraphale as he places one glass beside the sunglasses and settles himself in the armchair opposite.

Crowley pulls himself up to reach for the glass, looking at once like he has both too many and not enough bones in his body. Aziraphale is well aware that this is Crowley’s seduction routine and he’s fighting it admirably. The eye contact that Crowley makes when he takes his first sip of the wine would normally have Aziraphale weak at the knees and begging to be touched; tonight, though, Aziraphale is strong. Other than a minor swelling in his crotch, he’s unaffected by these displays of desire.

“You’re in quite the mood tonight,” Aziraphale says casually.

“Apparently I’m the only one,” Crowley mutters into his wineglass.

Aziraphale doesn’t respond in words. He sets down his drink and leans back in his armchair, one hand toying with the end of his bow tie. He pulls it loose slowly and then slips it free of his collar completely. The buttons of his old, worn waistcoat come undone easily and he shrugs it off his shoulders smoothly. Crowley’s eyes are practically burning holes in his shirt and Aziraphale allows himself the slightest preen at the devoted attention he’s getting.

“I didn’t say that. Just because I’m not helpless in the face of your desires doesn’t mean that I’m not interested.”

The audible swallow from Crowley is gratifying, the first symptom of his slipping control. Aziraphale decides to press his advantage a little further and unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt.

“I think you might forget, sometimes, who you belong to,” Aziraphale is casual, deliberately not looking at Crowley as he speaks. “I think that you might get yourself carried away in your excitement and try to push me.”

“What? I don’t- I never-” Crowley trips over his words, trying to catch up with Aziraphale’s train of thought.

“Take your clothes off.” Aziraphale picks up his glass and takes a sip, looking at Crowley over the rim.

After a brief interlude of unintelligible noises, Crowley scrambles to comply; kicking off his shoes, stripping off his shirt and jeans, and stopping when he’s down to just his underwear. He curls up in the corner of the sofa, sitting on his newly bare feet. Aziraphale gives him a pointed look, flicking his eyes from Crowley’s underwear, to his face, and back to his underwear.

“Oh,” Crowley says quietly.

He blushes a warm pink as he eases the waistband of his underwear over his hips. Keeping his feet tucked under him, Crowley awkwardly shimmies his pants down his legs. After shifting his weight several times, awkwardly lifting himself on his elbows, and getting the offending item tangled around his ankles, Crowley is finally nude.

Being naked in front of each other is nothing new; there’s nothing for either of them to be embarrassed about. Aziraphale knows that Crowley’s blush is all due to anticipation and the excitement of having Aziraphale take charge.

“Much better,” Aziraphale treats Crowley to a warm smile. “Now, why don’t you masturbate for me, hmm?”

He asks the question in the same manner he might use to ask Crowley to pass the salt or choose a film to watch. He keeps his features schooled in a mask of casual expectation, working to convey the impression that his request is anything but optional. Slowly, Crowley unfurls and stretches himself out across the sofa, watching Aziraphale as he moves. One hand makes its way towards his cock, stroking over his stomach and hip before grasping the base of his erection.

Picking up his wine, Aziraphale relaxes back into his armchair to drink in his view and the rich Merlot.  Aziraphale finds his eyes darting back and forth between Crowley's face and the cradle of his hips as if this were centre court at Wimbledon; torn between expressions of bliss and the deeply erotic way Crowley's hand strokes himself to pleasure. Crowley’s yellow eyes fix on Aziraphale’s face, wordlessly asking for something, something Aziraphale can’t quite grasp. He looks delicious, sprawled over the sofa with his back arching into his hand. For all his wanton gasps and moans, he doesn’t break his eye contact, and Aziraphale finds himself drawn into his gaze more and more.

Crowley doesn’t stop stroking himself, even as Aziraphale stands and crosses the room. His pace doesn’t falter when Aziraphale sits beside him. And when Aziraphale lifts Crowley into his lap, there’s no break in the rhythm of his fist.

“Good boy, Crowley,” Aziraphale croons, holding him tight. “Are you close?”

A guttural moan and frantic nod form Crowley’s response. Aziraphale rests his hand over Crowley’s cock, stilling his frenzied motions.

Flushed and beautiful, Crowley pants in Aziraphale’s arms and pulls his hand away from his eager prick.

“Do you want to come like this, love?” Aziraphale asks as he strokes the back of Crowley’s neck.

“No, angel,” Crowley’s voice is breathy when he answers.

"Good. You're not going to." Aziraphale says, so firmly Crowley wouldn't  _ dare  _ disobey. "Do carry on, though," he adds a little more gently and leans back expectantly.

The look that Crowley gives him is part confusion and part excitement. There’s clearly a game being played, and Crowley appears to be realising that he doesn’t know all the rules. It’s deeply gratifying to Aziraphale to see how easily he can put Crowley on the back foot.

With an impotent, impatient groan, Crowley curls his fingers around his straining cock and begins to stroke it once again gingerly at first, as if he’s afraid of pushing himself over the edge. Aziraphale toys with the short hairs at the nape of Crowley’s neck, presses kisses to his shoulder, and whispers encouragement into his ear whenever he seems especially close to the edge of climax.

“You delicious thing; you can keep going for me, can’t you?”

Crowley nods; his eyes screwed shut for a few seconds, his hand still. He gathers up his wits once more, then continues his assault on his abused flesh until his next peak threatens. 

Aziraphale encourages, cajoles, and teases by turns; each and every time Crowley seems fit to explode. He delights in how wonderfully vulnerable Crowley is allowing himself to be, laid out in his lap like a feast. 

“Enough, love. Enough,” Aziraphale finally relents.

Unable to wait any longer, he brings his face towards Crowley’s and kisses him deeply. Happily, he feels Crowley’s arm snake around his back, and the hand that Crowley had been so vigorously fucking just a moment ago comes to cup Aziraphale’s face. 

It’s rather lovely, this kissing business. Aziraphale could kiss Crowley for hours, revelling in the hot slide of lips and tongues exploring each other; the intimacy of it, the sensuality. The way he can fill his senses with Crowley so completely. It’s better than the finest meal he could ever imagine. 

The needy whimpers that Crowley spills into Aziraphale’s mouth whenever the fabric of his shirt brushes against the straining head of Crowley’s cock remind Aziraphale not to prolong this torture for too long.

He reaches between Crowley’s legs and grabs a handful of his arse, repositioning Crowley on his lap. Crowley seems content to let himself be kissed, and manhandled; melting against Aziraphale, utterly willing, and sucking Aziraphale’s tongue into his mouth.

Satisfied with the new position, Aziraphale strokes one finger down the underside of Crowley’s cock, along the seam of his sac, and down to the tight hole of his ass. At Crowley’s stammered gasp, Aziraphale pulls away from the kiss and gently touches the tip of his nose to Crowley’s.

“What do you want, my love?” Aziraphale draws light circles around Crowley’s rim as he speaks.

Crowley tries to answer by kissing Aziraphale’s throat and jaw with a hungry mouth and teasing swipes of his tongue.

“That is not an answer, is it?” Aziraphale pulls away from Crowley.

It appears that Crowley remembers himself and regains a little of his control. He leans into Aziraphale’s chest and works to calm his breathing before answering.

“I- I want you to bend me over this sofa and fuck me, angel, please.”

“Much better, thank you. Was that so difficult?” Aziraphale asks.

Crowley rolls his eyes so aggressively that Aziraphale almost thinks he can hear it.

“What do I want, though?” Aziraphale muses, as if to himself. “You’re mine, aren’t you?”

“All yours, angel,” says Crowley quickly.

“Let’s put your pretty mouth to use, then.”

Crowley scrunches his nose and sneers but there’s no bite behind it. Aziraphale responds with another gentle kiss before releasing Crowley’s legs so he can slide down to his knees. Crowley rests his head against Aziraphale’s thigh, watching with anticipation as Aziraphale moves to open his trousers. As soon as his hard cock springs free of the confines of his underwear, Crowley lunges forward and envelopes the head with his mouth.

Aziraphale groans and lets his eyes close as the sensation of Crowley’s lips and tongue overwhelm him. For a moment, he revels in the wet, hot pressure of Crowley’s mouth sucking him deeper and deeper. 

The lure of seeing Crowley’s lips stretched around his cock proves too much to resist and Aziraphale forces his eyes open again. The sight is breathtaking; Crowley’s yellow eyes gaze up in adoration, watching for the reactions that Aziraphale gladly gives. His mouth is stretched wide around the girth of Aziraphale’s cock as he sinks lower. Aziraphale thinks idly that Crowley might swallow down his whole  erection, and a flash of pleasure at the thought makes him groan and push his hips towards Crowley’s mouth. 

Slender hands with sharp, black nails reach for Aziraphale’s, moving them to where Crowley wants to be held.  This is nothing new. Aziraphale knows how Crowley likes to be used like this, but he always waits until Crowley asks him for it. Under Crowley’s direction, he sinks one hand into the warmth of Crowley’s hair, up from the back of his neck so his head is cradled in Aziraphale’s palm. Then, Crowley moves Aziraphale’s other hand to the pale skin of his throat, a silent request to take control and drive deeper.

Aziraphale starts gently; rocking his hips and easing himself further into the welcoming embrace of Crowley’s mouth. It doesn’t take long for him to start moving more urgently, slipping his cockhead into the tight confines of Crowley’s throat. Once he’s breached that boundary for the first time, it gets easier for Aziraphale to plunge his full length in and press Crowley’s nose into his pubic hair. Beneath his fingers, he can feel the bulge he makes in Crowley’s neck with each thrust.

“Oh, Crowley, you feel so good. Perhaps I should just use you like this and leave you wanting.”

Crowley whines, a broken sound, his throat convulsing around Aziraphale’s cock with every note. The pleading, wanting look that he manages to convey whilst being so thoroughly used impresses Aziraphale.

“Oh, I’m not really that cruel!” Aziraphale protests, pushing as deep as he can and grunting as a wave of pleasure washes over him.

He withdraws quickly, leaving Crowley panting and wet with his own saliva. Crowley remains on his knees, where Aziraphale put him, looking up at him with undisguised adoration even as he waits for instruction and tries to catch his breath.

Producing a handkerchief out of the ether, Aziraphale carefully wipes Crowley’s face clean, holding his jaw firmly in one hand.

“Such a messy thing, aren’t you?” Aziraphale teases as he cleans Crowley.

“Filthy, angel. You have no idea,” says Crowley with a smile, his voice hoarse.

“I think I have  _ something _ of an idea, Crowley.”

Aziraphale leans down to press a kiss to Crowley’s lips, crowding him lower to the floor with his body. When Crowley is nearly pressed flat against the ground, in ways that he shouldn’t really be able to contort, Aziraphale stands and offers a hand to Crowley. Looking flustered and out of sorts, Crowley takes the offered hand and gets to his feet as Aziraphale watches with admiration.

“You’re such a beautiful creature, my love,” Aziraphale pulls Crowley’s naked body against him as he speaks. “I’ve half a mind to keep you here, permanently nude, so I may appreciate you whenever the mood takes me.”

Crowley kisses Aziraphale, looping his arms around Aziraphale’s neck to hold them together. Aziraphale’s grip on Crowley’s waist becomes an embrace that allows Aziraphale to grind his cock against Crowley’s hip.

“Not while you insist on allowing the public into your sham of a bookshop, angel,” Crowley murmurs into Aziraphale’s mouth with a smile.

Pulling back enough to make eye contact, Aziraphale makes an amused face, daring Crowley to push his luck any further. His hands slide up Crowley’s bare back, making him shiver with delight. One more kiss; then Aziraphale grabs the back of Crowley’s neck in one hand and spins him around, moving him bodily to the back of the sofa and forcing him to bend at the waist.

“This was how you wanted it, yes?”

“Fuck, yesss. Like this,” Crowley hisses, gathering throw pillows to support his head.

Still fully clothed but for his exposed prick, Aziraphale stands behind Crowley and strokes the cleft of Crowley’s arse with the head of his cock. The tremor of shock that travels up Crowley’s spine makes Aziraphale smile. He is most assuredly staking his claim on Crowley tonight; by the time he’s finished Crowley won’t even remember where they went for dinner, let alone the flirtatious waiter.

His cock is still glistening with Crowley’s saliva, but Aziraphale wants to take Crowley apart completely; he pulls a small bottle of lubricant from his trouser pocket and dribbles it down the valley that Crowley is so beautifully presenting. Hearing every catch in Crowley’s breathing does wonders for Aziraphale’s ego, knowing how tightly wound and needy Crowley is and that it’s all because of him.

With one hand on Crowley’s hip to steady him, Aziraphale strokes a fingertip against Crowley’s hole and gathers up the trickles of lube before slowly and steadily pressing into him. The gratifying gasp and wriggle that Crowley gives in response send electric shocks right to the core of Aziraphale’s arousal. Crowley’s entrance is tight but inviting; Aziraphale’s finger slides in with little resistance, right down to the knuckle.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley whines into his pile of cushions. “I need you, please.”

Tutting at his impatience, Aziraphale rocks his finger inside Crowley slowly and changes his plans. With his own lust demanding attention, Aziraphale had intended to open Crowley up as quickly as possible. But the thought of making him beg, truly  _ beg, _ to be taken was all too delicious a prospect.

“You have me, love. I’m here, right here.” Aziraphale croons his reassurance as he gently slides his finger in and out of Crowley.

He strokes the length of Crowley’s back as he opens him up ever so slowly, fucking Crowley with one finger and curling it to just tease at his prostate. Beneath him, Crowley whimpers and whines; sometimes in words, but mostly in inarticulate collections of consonants that betray his consuming need. 

Just when Aziraphale feels sure that Crowley is about to fall apart, he adds a second finger and completely changes his technique. Adding a fresh coating of lube, Aziraphale fingers Crowley in rapid, probing strokes while his other hand slides up Crowley’s back to grab a handful of hair at his crown. 

“Ah! Please, please, please! Angel, please!” Crowley babbles as his head is forced up.

“Please what, my darling Crowley? What do you need, my beautiful boy?” Aziraphale’s own need colours his voice.

“Take me! I’m yours, please! Please, please fuck me, Aziraphale!” 

The words are like a lightning strike to Aziraphale’s core, heating him far beyond boiling point and threatening to make him explode. Barely keeping himself contained, Aziraphale withdraws his fingers and centres himself behind Crowley. He’s as hard as he’s ever been, throbbing almost painfully with the need to be buried deep inside Crowley. Aziraphale swipes the tip of his cock up Crowley’s cleft, coating it liberally in lubricant before pressing it to Crowley’s hole.

Taking his time, being mindful of Crowley’s reactions, Aziraphale eases the blunt head past Crowley’s entrance. The grip of his tight muscles draws out a sinful groan; truly there is nothing as good as sinking into Crowley. The greedy little devil beneath him pushes his hips back and manages to take an inch or so of Aziraphale that much faster.

“Naughty, naughty,” Aziraphale chides but he’s too full of his own need to really be disappointed.

He sinks in as far as Crowley can usually take him, a little short of his full length, and takes a breath to let the sensation settle. Under his hands, Crowley is panting and whining, mumbling wordlessly as his body adjusts around Aziraphale’s cock.

An unexpected surge of love swamps Aziraphale; this is his Crowley, his beloved, submitting to him and begging for his attention. He wants to protect his lover, to keep him safe whilst also using him in all manner of depraved and debauched ways. He leans over to kiss Crowley’s back, right between the shoulder blades, and begins to move.

They’ve done this enough by now to have learnt each other's preferences and tolerances, Aziraphale knows just how Crowley likes to be fucked and that’s what he sets about doing. He thrusts in fast and draws out slow, his hands gripping Crowley’s hips tightly to keep them from smashing into the back of the sofa with the strength of his thrusts.

“Fuck, yes. Aziraphale. Deeper, more, please,” Crowley babbles, as he does so often.

Aziraphale thrusts in to Crowley’s previous limit, and then presses forward ever so slightly, reading Crowley’s reactions.

“Yes, yes, yes, like that. I want you all, please. Please let me have all of you.”

How can Aziraphale say no to a request like that? This incredible, loving, gorgeous creature is begging to be filled with Aziraphale’s cock and Aziraphale wants to give him everything he’s ever wanted.

“Tell me as soon as it’s too much, yes?”

“It won’t be, I need you. Fuck, Aziraphale, please!” Crowley cries out.

Aziraphale’s mouth twitches in concern at that.

“Darling, no. You’ve got to promise me that you won’t push yourself too far.”

Crowley huffs and hangs his head, he appears to calm himself with a couple of deep breaths that Aziraphale can feel in his own body.

“I promise, I promise. I’ll tell you if I can’t take it.”

“You’re such a good boy, Crowley. Such a good boy for me.” Aziraphale presses a little deeper as he praises Crowley.

Crowley whimpers and strains against the hands on his hips, trying to urge Aziraphale deeper, faster, harder, but Aziraphale takes his time. He moves carefully, groaning as Crowley accommodates each new position. The tightness around Aziraphale’s cock is so overwhelming that he’s hanging on to his control by a thread, wanting nothing more than to surge forward and bury himself as deeply as possible in Crowley’s body. He’s almost completely inside when Crowley’s breath catches. Aziraphale pauses and waits for Crowley to either adjust or declare a limit. Seconds pass.

“More,” Crowley requests breathlessly.

Aziraphale gives him the last half inch of his cock, their hips pressed flush to each other.

“How’s that, my love?” Aziraphale strokes across Crowley’s ribs soothingly while he adjusts.

“Ah, angel, fuck. It’s so much. I’m gonna come as soon as you fuck me. Can I? Please?” Crowley’s thoughts all fall out in one hurried breath.

“Of course, you come as soon as you want. I can’t tell you how good you feel around my cock, Crowley. I’m going to come so deep inside you.”

Crowley chokes back a sob, overwhelmed and right at the edge of his pleasure. Aziraphale takes that as his cue to start moving once more, withdrawing almost his full length before thrusting in again. Crowley cries out with every stroke, losing more composure each time until he finally reaches for his cock to bring himself over the edge. Aziraphale bats his hand away and takes Crowley in hand himself, squeezing around him with a firm grip.

He presses his forehead into Crowley’s back, panting as he fucks into Crowley and times the strokes of his hand for maximum effect. Seconds later, Crowley stutters out a wordless cry and tenses around Aziraphale’s cock. He spills hot into Aziraphale’s hand and against the back of the sofa in messy spurts. Aziraphale follows almost immediately, sinking himself as deep into Crowley as he can and losing himself to the gripping spasms that mark Crowley’s orgasm.

For a moment, neither of them move. Aziraphale’s overly sensitive cock has been wrung dry by Crowley’s orgasm, but with their hips so firmly together, he doesn’t slip out.

“You’re incredible, Crowley. You’re nothing short of a marvel, and you’re all mine,” Aziraphale breaks the silence with his praise.

“Of course I’m yours, angel. Always was.” Crowley responds.

With one last kiss pressed to Crowley’s back, Aziraphale withdraws and tries not to be broken by Crowley’s mournful sigh. He conjures up a warm, wet washcloth and cleans them both off, taking special care with Crowley and checking in with him as he comes down from the high of his climax. Aziraphale readjusts his clothing, dismisses the washcloth as well as the splatters on the furniture, and summons a soft blanket.

“Come here, love.” He wraps Crowley in the blanket and guides him around the sofa to sit.

As soon as they are both seated, Crowley climbs back into Aziraphale’s lap to snuggle against him. There’s so much love in his too-human heart that Aziraphale fears he may burst from it and explode his possessive, jealous, greedy love all over the precious creature in his arms.

“I love you, Crowley.”

“I know, angel. If I’d known you’d react like this, I don’t think I’d mind you flirting with hundreds of waiters,” says Crowley drowsily.

“Me? You were the one flirting with the waiter all night as if I weren’t there!” Aziraphale is surprised more than offended.

“Nuh-uh, he barely spoke to me. Wouldn’t stop making eyes at you, though.”

Aziraphale begins to laugh. 

“I’ve been feeling jealous all evening over nothing?”

Crowley lifts his head to look Aziraphale in the eye.

“Well, yeah. Obviously. I love you, why would I flirt with some silly human?” Crowley sounds fuzzy and confused. “But getting you jealous is the key to getting fucked like that? Noted.”

Aziraphale buries his face in Crowley’s hair and kisses him repeatedly.

“I’d prefer that you just ask, dear.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on tumblr, I'm [Luritto](https://luritto.tumblr.com/)


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